


On Other Wind

by soundlolgic



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 07:01:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15528765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundlolgic/pseuds/soundlolgic
Summary: Minor Arcana, Five of Swords: conflict, loss, defeat, win at all costs, open to change.A racer, a skyfarer. Over the years: snapshots and milestones.





	On Other Wind

**Author's Note:**

> I've had the honor and pleasure of participating in a gbf tarot themed fan project featuring arts and writings from over 100 contributors! Absolutely thrilled to be able to write my piece for my favorite rainbow racer as the Five of Swords.

“I’ll live and die by the tracks.” Meteon had told Fangio once, right after his first professional race, face flushed and grin wide. Fangio might have smiled, might have scolded him, it was all a haze. Meteon only distinctly remembered the wind cooling his sweat-soaked hair, and the wild beating of his heart as he gazed at the first place trophy lifted high over his head, the blinding sun glinting off its edge. He had believed then, with the blazing fervent of youth and ambitions, that he belonged here, was born solely for this.

Though, he would wager that the subsequent pro races never quite measured up to that first adrenaline high. He kept chasing finish lines after finish lines, kept pushing the Blue Orbit to her utmost limits. The race tracks were endless, yet impossibly small as Meteon sped past the same blurry shadows of his competitors, and the commentators would scream “Line!!!”  
A reporter asked once, why he raced like he was running out of time. A pause. “That’s, one way to put it,” Meteon chuckled, “I suppose on the tracks I might seem reckless - even desperate - to onlookers” shrugged, “I find no meaning in competition unless I’m the best.” That made headlines, earned him legions of admirers, more challengers. Fange told him to mind his attitude next time, even though the old man knew that was the unwavering truth.  
And yet, at the Platinum Sky Cup - his favorite playground - as Maddie rushed past in the Kaiser Herrschaft, leaving Meteon stranded in his cobalt blue streak exhaust, the words clumped in his throat. The Blue Orbit shook dangerously on the tracks they both called home. The wind was biting that day, the sun burning. His beloved speedship stuttered.  
The cheers were deafening when he accepted the Premium Sky Cup, his 5th consecutive win, a text book come-from-behind epic. He should have been used to the weight of the trophy by now. It has always felt weighless lifted over his head, an extensions of his arms. That day, it was heavy. Heavy with the realization he didn’t race solely to win, didn’t always have to. From the podium, the race track looked distorted, dwarfed by the roaring horizon crowned with the setting sun. The wind rushed at his face, tugging the green-orange of his hair.  
  
He treated the crew of the Grandcypher that night; took comfort in Lyria’s enthusiasm over the various food strewn on the table; snuck glances at Vyrn and the Captain bickering over the name of a local dish. Strange, to not be surrounded by over-enthusiastic fans or the eager press after a competition, to not be fine-tuning the Blue Orbit as Fange droned on about a particularly dangerous stunt he’d attempted. If he closed his eyes, he could have fallen asleep here, without a thought about what he could improve for the next race.  
Vyrn’s question floated above, “How about joining our crew?”  
Meteon’s heart did a weird flip, the kind he only felt when he glimpsed the finish line. He stayed silent, long enough to calm the frantic energy in his chest, and mused, “I’ll think about it.”  
  
His thoughts and dream that night were filled with an ever expanding sky. He was small, utterly insignificant: he could be swallowed whole by the vastness. Until his vision shifted and he was looking out of his helmet from behind the hatch of the Blue Orbit, her engine hummed a familiar tune as she worked up to the incoming nitro boost.  
Suddenly, another sound fed into his ears, a roar. His chest seized. Without looking, he knew it was coming up behind him. The Kaiser Herrschaft was going to catch up, the sinister shadows Maddie brought along were going to trample over Meteon’s sweat and tears, over Fangio’s brilliance, destroyed everything they’d worked hard toward for all these years. He was trapped in the cockpit, hands tied to the controls.  
But still, there was something else. A faint whisper at first, but growing clearer and steadier. From above, a shadow stretched over his speedship.

_The Grandcypher._

“-teon!”  
Meteon whipped his head toward the call. Lyria was standing on board the Grandcypher, leaning over the railing. Vyrn hovered next to her. Both were screaming his name. “You can do it!” They were smiling. Lyria’s hair fluttered in the wind and fanned out over the sky in a warm azure.  
The Blue Orbit shuddered and charged forward. The Herrschaft’s shadows grew smaller, distant. Meteon was speeding, no, soaring along the Grandcypher, navigating the air currents that lifted him higher and higher. There was no finish line in sight; he kept going until the horizon whited out.  
  
He woke up heaving, heart thumping loudly in the quiet of his room. It was still dark, but everytime he tried going back to sleep, blue sky burst behind his eyelids. He gripped the thin blanket tightly, his fingers were shaking.  
_How about joining our crew?_

Meteon paced once, twice outside Fangio’s room. He couldn’t detect any noises behind the closed door. Meant the old man was actually sleeping for once instead of tinkering with engine parts through the night. Worked for him. He straightened and turned toward the direction of the Grandcypher crew.

Slipping away in the middle of the night proved futile, as a letter from Fangio arrived for him the next morning. Meteon sighed, opening the thick envelope to the giggles of Lyria and the Captain next to him. They were standing on deck of the Grandcypher, winter had settled and the winds blew in gusts, threatening to pluck the pieces of paper from his freezing fingers.  
Fangio scolded him for not packing well enough for the cold weather (to which he rolled his eyes, he was stowing away, not going on a vacation!), included two pages of detailed notes on routine maintenance for the Blue Orbit (everything he’d been doing since he was 16 years old). The last few pages were the surprise: Meteon flipped through a list of Fange’s mechanic acquaintances, and skyracing organizers. The old man had sent him a map of the major islands of the skydom with details of big and small skyraces, some he had participated in, most others he’d never heard of. A scribble at the corner, “Find your finish line, kiddo.”  
“Champ, are you crying?” Vyrn cooed.  
Meteon shook his head vigorously even as his eyes were feeling dangerously warm and wet. He carefully folded Fange’s sentiments and tucked the letter safely in his pocket. He looked straight ahead. Lyria came to stand at his left, hands loosely clasped behind her back, a gentle smile as she faced the brightening sky. Captain nudged his arm, “So, where next?”  
Meteon grinned wide, “Hey, Rackam, Captain said it’s my turn to steer!”  
Rackam shouted something from the helm that roused laughters across the deck. Meteon joined in, giddy with excitement and thrill. What sort of monsters are waiting for him at the edges of the world? The Grandcypher glided on strong winds, seeming to head towards the sun itself, unflinching. Meteon thought back to his first competition, the high that came with the first trophy. It was still one of a kind, and just as well; he’d always been one to outdo himself.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of Crosswinds: a Granblue Fantasy Tarot Project.
> 
> Check out @gbf_tarot on twitter for more art works and stories!


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